


Confidence

by Hold_My_Wings



Category: Frozen (Disney Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Anxiety, F/F, How Do I Tag, I Don't Even Know, I'm Bad At Summaries, Lesbian Elsa (Disney), Marriage Proposal, My First Fanfic, One Shot, Romance, Social Anxiety, Unrelated Anna/Elsa (Disney)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-13
Updated: 2021-03-13
Packaged: 2021-03-21 13:27:11
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,299
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30022455
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hold_My_Wings/pseuds/Hold_My_Wings
Summary: She’s doing this for you; without you she’d be a trembling ball of doubt, actually, she probably wouldn’t have gone out to begin with if it weren’t for your pleading and pestering. Elsa does it for you because it makes you happy when you can show her off to your friends. You’re certain she likes when you brag about her too. She just won’t admit it. Ever.
Relationships: Anna & Elsa (Disney), Anna/Elsa (Disney)
Comments: 8
Kudos: 25





	Confidence

There’s something about the way she moves…

For you, confidence is an important quality. As a professional athlete, you must have it to perform well and push through the nerves or the pressure. But it’s also been easy, you never had to gain it because it’s been a part of you for as long as you can remember; you were born surefooted. 

Unfortunately, not everyone is blessed with the same gifts. Your girl – _woman_ – as beautiful and flawless as she appears on stage, is not naturally wired with self-assurance. On the contrary, Elsa’s quite timid and uncertain about practically everything, albeit no one would know at first glance. But you get to see her behind the curtains; you know the effort it takes for her to just exist in a room with her fellow castmates, much less interact with them.

Every morning, you watch as she stares at her reflection in the mirror, tears in her eyes and quivering uncontrollably. You listen to her sing to herself in the shower; it’s the only other thing, besides you of course, that can calm her nerves. You talk to her, praise her, tell her silly jokes and words of encouragement. Yet sometimes even that doesn’t work. Sometimes her anxiety is simply too much for her to take.

Which is why you can’t help but lag a short distance behind, openly staring as her long, elegant strides bring her closer to where you’ve wanted her for the past few hours. Her hips have an intrinsic, captivating sway that draws you in like a magnetic field. Her posture is pristine, comparable to that of royalty, and she has the grace of a dancer. She’s absolutely gorgeous. As insecure as she is, she exudes confidence.

Only the foolish refuse to show their appreciation.

She’s doing this for you; without you she’d be trembling ball of doubt, actually, she probably wouldn’t have gone out to begin with if it weren’t for your pleading and pestering. Elsa does it for you because it makes you happy when you can show her off to your friends. You’re certain she likes when you brag about her too. She just won’t admit it. Ever.

You scrape your teeth against your bottom lip, quickly scanning the area for paparazzi – she hates any sort of attention, ironic because she’s the biggest name in Broadway so she basically lives in the center of it – before reaching out to tap her gingerly on the rear.

Like clockwork, she startles, tightening her grip on her purse and whirling around to meet your gaze while still moving in the direction of her penthouse. You wink with your signature lopsided grin and it extracts cute little giggles out of her. She rolls her pretty blue eyes, tucking her chin to her chest and spinning back in a failed attempt to hide a magnificent blush.

When she turns the corner, her arm swings back immediately and you take her hand without hesitation. A miniature crowd of dedicated fans has formed by the entrance of the building; she produces a shy smile and plasters it to her face as they approach her.

Eleven months of dating has rendered you an expert at reading her body language. She keeps her excellent poise, but her neck bows slightly, her jaw clenches nervously, and her muscles tense significantly. She holds onto you with an excruciating grip. She’s apprehensive. Her anxiety is spiking.

Your instincts kick in; experience has taught you to shield her, protect her as if you were her bodyguard, but she clears her throat, reminding you to allow her the opportunity to handle this herself. She’s been seeing a new therapist whose really been pushing her social growth, motivating her to face her fears instead of avoiding them. 

“I can do this,” she whispers under her breath, although it sounds more like a question than a statement. You nod, admiring her bravery – she’s come so far from when you first met her; it’s a miracle she even felt courageous enough to respond to you when you pursued her back then.

The fans reel with excitement, jumping forward, clapping their hands, and squealing her name. One little girl lunges out, trotting up with a cheerful greeting. She holds a pen up to Elsa and asks her to sign a poster, a picture that you’ve seen up on billboards, promoting the musical she’s starring in.

Observing, you stay close as she squats down to level herself with the girl. She takes the pen and poster, making eye contact and striking up a simple conversation. She wonders if the girl wishes to be an actress when she grows up and then flushes a deep, distracting pink when the girl announces loudly, “I wanna act and sing and be just like you!”

It’s terribly flustering because she turns a similar shade when she’s beneath you in bed, writhing, and moaning, and receiving your relentless ministrations. You’re not known for your patience; you’ve been trying to get her home and get her naked well-nigh the entire night. It took a long, long time – eight months to be precise – for her to finally feel comfortable enough to go all the way, and you’ve only slept with her a handful of times since, so you’re itching to do it again. 

Gulping, you trace the curves of her body with a lustful regard as she poses for picture after picture, inching further and further away. The slit in her form fitting, blue satin dress is exposing just enough thigh to evoke tingling in places you strain not to think about.

Your heart swells when she tosses her head back, laughing at a man who’s snapping selfies with her. In your mind you wonder; would she be annoyed if you told her how proud you are again? You’ve said it probably a million times already this evening alone.

But what’s really causing you to gloat and boil over with overwhelming arousal is how she’s taking charge of her anxiety, conquering her fear of people, bettering herself for the sake of herself and the those inspired by her. She’s not at all unafraid, but _damn_ she’s so fucking _sexy_ when she assumes control of her inner demons.

Suddenly, she’s looking back at you with an endearing expression on her face. She beckons you over, brushing her fingers against your low back when you step near enough. “This is Anna,” she says happily, pointing her speech toward a camera you failed to spot previously, “Anna Jensen. She’s my – she’s the love of my life.” 

It takes everything in your power to keep from fainting on the spot. You stumble back, flailing to keep your balance as your senses distort. Voices can be heard, but you can’t hear what they’re saying because you’re in shock; Elsa is anal-retentive about her private life. She made it clear early in the relationship that she was unready and unwilling to have a romance under the spotlight of the public eye.

Blinking furiously, you push strands of unruly copper hair out of your darting eyes and gawk at the crowd that seems to have added to its numbers. An attractive woman with brown skin waves eagerly at you; something about her is oddly familiar. You close your eyes, shake your head, and reopen them. Beside her stands a handsome man – also familiar – who’s holding a creepily familiar toddler in his arms. Her pretty blue eyes connect with yours as she squirms.

Gradually, as you float back to reality, you notice that the additions to the crowd are all people you know personally. Kristoff, your best friend, is positioned in the back alongside Hans, your annoying big brother. Elsa’s cousin, Rapunzel, is bouncing on the balls of her feet and has her arms wrapped around her fiancé, Eugene, who’s giving you an obnoxious thumbs up. Your parents are by the double doors next to Elsa’s stoic grandfather. 

You blanch, instantly trying to remember whose birthday you forgot about, however, Elsa’s quiet, sultry voice interrupts your processing. “Yes, the rumors were true,” she confirms, beaming at you in a way that causes you to shiver, “we’ve been dating since –”

She shoots you a quizzical look.

“October of last year,” you finish, finding it weird that she suddenly doesn’t remember the date when she’s the one who tracks that sort of thing. You mirror her expression, dazed by the camera flashes that have started to attack your vision.

“– right, and if she’ll have me,” she bites her lip, eyes locking with yours as she surprises you yet again by lowering onto one knee and popping open a small wooden box, “I’d like to spend forever with her. Anna Sophia Jensen,” her eyes sparkle with a mixture of worry and adoration; she takes a deep breath, her body trembling viciously, “will you marry me?”

A bunch of unintelligible words spew from your mouth. You’re utterly dumbfounded. Caught off-guard. Stunned. Not only is this completely abrupt – the two of you have shared scant conversation about the details of marriage – but you also assumed that you’d be the one to propose.

Jaw slackening, you gape at the woman kneeling before you, hoping your face is displaying an appropriate representation of how exhilarated you are. You clasp your hands over your heart to prevent it from beating out of your chest. Through forming tears, you catch your breath, nodding rapidly. “Yes,” you choke – squeak out, “yes Elisabeth Arendelle. I’ll marry you!”

Elsa lights up with elation. Standing up, she slips a rose gold ring embedded with two pearls, four diamonds, and an emerald gem at the center onto your finger. She exhales, stepping back to admire you. Her lips warp into a sly grin and her right eyebrow arches up.

“My, my, my, my, my, my,” she hums a snippet of the chorus to one of your favorite songs, one that’s become somewhat of an inside joke between the two of you.

You laugh, heart still aflutter as she pulls you into a gentle kiss. At this point, all you want to do is kiss her to next century, but you know she’s too shy for public displays of affection, so you hold back. This whole ordeal is a giant leap outside her comfort zone anyway and you’re over the moon with happiness.

“You sure look good tonight,” you whisper into her ear, pulling away with a gamesome wink to watch her bloom as red as a rose. “I love you, baby.”

“And I you,” she breathes, interlacing her fingers with yours and eying an enthusiastic audience. A few seconds pass before she eventually shrinks into herself, hands wringing together, shoulders rising to her ears, and mouth open as if attempting speech for the first time. She’s turtling, retreating into her shell of introversion. 

It’s your cue. You decide to be blunt, cutting right to the chase because she’s about to panic and you have needs. “Alright, time for us to go,” you declare, raising on arm in acknowledgment and snaking the other around Elsa’s hourglass waist, “y’all have a good night.”

Ignoring the comments and queries, you shovel through the people to the double doors. Your parents – radiating with joy – hold them open for you and you give a courteous bow to Mr. Arendelle as you step over the threshold. Once inside, you slow your pace, giving Elsa a moment to collect herself.

Her chest heaves as she closes her eyes and tilts her head back. You feel conflicted because you want to comfort her, to do something to help, but you know, despite all her progress, that she’s still in a fragile frame of mind. She prefers to cope on her own. She’s mentioned that as long as she can feel your presence, she’s okay.

After several minutes, she opens her eyes and searches frantically for yours. “I – I hope you don’t mind,” she grimaces, averting her gaze as though she did something wrong, “I told them all t-to leave when I finished proposing. Your brother d-didn’t like that but I – it was really impulsive of me a-and well, I guess – I knew I’d want you all to myself afterward,” she looks up, hope glossing her pupils, “the engagement party is tomorrow.”

Cautiously, as to not further break her deteriorating confidence, you stuff your fists inside the pockets of your khaki pants, feigning insouciance. “Come here,” you command casually, drawing circles on the marble flooring with the tip of a loafer.

Obeying, preceding an obvious internal debate, Elsa tentatively glides forward. She fidgets with her fingers and shakes like a leaf as her head shrouds itself in the nape of your neck. “Are you mad at me?” She mutters guiltily. “I know you thought – I-I’m sorry.”

“No,” you snort, taking in the scent of her perfume, “how could I be mad? That was incredible and impressive. And...” you remove your hands from your pockets and slink your arms around her body to squeeze her ample backside, “I want you all to myself too.”

She pulls back to gaze into your eyes, keeping her hips pressed against your body. You can see her emotions surface, eyes darkening with desire. Her demeanor changes as well, lips contorting into a smirk as coy as your own. Her fingertips extend to cradle your chin; you shutter at her cool touch.

“Well then,” she remarks, releasing herself from your embrace to retreat toward the elevator, walking backwards in the most seductive way you’ve ever seen, “come and get me.”

With that, she twirls on her heel and struts away, leaving you to gawk in her wake. There’s something about the way she moves, maybe it’s her attractiveness or maybe it’s the confidence that she only shows in glimpses, that you just can’t get enough of. 

**Author's Note:**

> Hi guys! I have no idea what I'm doing, I just like to write. 
> 
> Feedback and comments would be greatly appreciated. 
> 
> I may or may not continue this in the future...we'll see.


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